Unexpected Heat
by stagepageandscreen
Summary: Or The time Bossuet set Musichetta's favourite rug on fire. "What happened 'last time?" From the flash of colour across Musichetta's cheeks, Eponine got the idea that it was an interesting story. Courfeyrac looked like the cat that had eaten the canary, "Have you not told her the story of your first anniversary, 'Chetta?" He tutted and grinned again, "You know what this means?"


**A/N Here is the Bossuet/Joly/ Musichetta story hinted at in 'Unexpected chaos or the time Combeferre made paper aeroplanes'. Just as a quick note, I don't have these three in a threesome. I pair Musichetta with Joly and have Bossuet as Joly's best friend.**

**I was thinking of making these one-shots a loosely connected series entitled 'Story-time with Courfeyrac' or something. What do you think?**

**Anyway, e****njoy mes amis!**

* * *

"Eponine, I need your help."

The desperation in Musichetta's voice caused Eponine to spin around from the coffee maker in surprise. Though the two of them had only known each other a few months they were already good friends, having met through the Amis and then subsequently working together on several shifts at the Musain. In all that time, Eponine had never heard Musichetta sound this stressed, used to the Italian beauty being light-hearted and laid back, two qualities that made her the perfect match for Joly, with all of his worrying and hypochondria.

"How can I be of assistance?" queried Courfeyrac, sidling up beside Musichetta and draping an arm over her shoulder.

The glare he received was truly frightening. "Is your name _Eponine_?"

He paused as if to think about it for a moment, and then shook his head, "No, I don't think so. Come on, 'Chetta, I thought you were good at matching names with faces."

He received another glare accompanied by the two words Courfeyrac dreaded hearing. "No cookies."

Eponine couldn't help sniggering slightly at the puppy dog look Courfeyrac affected. His attachment to baked goods was legendary amongst the group and many of them used it to their advantage.

Ignoring the pouting Courfeyrac, Musichetta turned back to Eponine, finally able to address the problem that had started this entire conversation, "I need your help to babysit Bossuet."

"When and why?" Eponine leant on the counter, her expression curious, "Joly is usually pretty good at looking after his best friend."

"Usually, yes, but it's Joly's and mine second anniversary this week and I'm setting up a surprise for him…"

"Because that worked _so _well last time," Courfeyrac drawled, perching himself on the end of the counter.

"What happened '_last time_'?" From the flash of colour across Musichetta's cheeks, Eponine got the idea that it was an interesting story.

Courfeyrac looked like the cat that had eaten the canary, "Have you not told her the story of your first anniversary, 'Chetta?" He tutted and grinned again, "You know what this means?"

"No cookies?" The threat was weak and Courfeyrac knew it.

"Nope. It means its story time!" He flung his arms wide, then frowned, "Damn it, Jehan isn't here with the Mystical Music app. Oh, well!"

He sat on the counter beside a fuming Musichetta and an intrigued Eponine, swingi his legs back and forth, "It all started so well…"

* * *

"Be careful with that!" Musichetta howled, running across the room just in time to catch the box of candles that Bossuet had knocked off the dresser.

He stepped back, a sheepish look on his face. "Sorry 'Chetta," he apologized, "didn't see those there." He read the label adorning the box and frowned in confusion, "Why have you bought a twenty pack of scented candles?"

"It's a surprise." Musichetta placed the box back on the dresser and, for good measure, moved the jar of scented oil to a safer home, "Joly and I have been together to for a year now, so I'm doing something special for the anniversary."

Bossuet's dark eyes lit up, "Oh, please let me help, 'Chetta! Please? If I'm here helping you I'm less likely to meet Joly and tell him because I forgot it was supposed to be a surprise."

Musichetta could see the sense of the plan and, after all, it was probably safer to keep Bossuet where she could see him. That way there would probably be fewer accidents, or if there were at least a First Aid box would be at hand.

A few hours later and everything was set up. Musichetta's surprise gift for her dear hypochondriac was an evening full of relaxation, involving his favourite meal (chicken kievs with mash potatoes, green beans, and fresh chicken gravy. Homemade of course) followed by a long, soothing massage to work the stress related aches and pains out of his muscles. As a massage therapist Musichetta had given him a massage a few times before, but this time she was aiming for full on romantic ambience; scented candles, relaxing music (classical if you really want to know), and the cocoa and vanilla massage oil already warm and waiting. She had even managed to borrow one of the massage tables from work and set it up in the living room, with Bossuet's help, putting down her favourite cream, deep pile carpet to stand on whilst she worked.

She looked around with satisfaction, enjoying the vision of peace that she had created, deciding to light one of the candles to get the scent circulating before Joly arrived home.

"Joly's in for quite the heated treat tonight," Bossuet said, stood in the doorway with a mischievous grin on his face, "He's a lucky man."

Musichetta felt herself flush slightly at both his insinuations and his praise. "Thank you," she brushed off the sentimentality with a wide smile and a huff of breath, "Would you be able to stay down here and keep an eye on the candle while I jump through a quick shower? Joly's due home in," she checked her watch, a beautiful timepiece that Joly had given her a few months before, "just under an hour and I want everything ready."

Bossuet saluted in reply, before collapsing back into one of the arm chairs that had been pushed back to make room for the massage table, smacking his bald head on the back of it in the process.

Feeling more relaxed than she had all day, Musichetta hurried up stairs and soon the sound of running water could be heard, along with an impressive rendition of 'Don't Rain on my Parade' from Funny Girl.

It was five minutes until Bossuet became bored, three more before he stood and began to wander around the room, an additional one until he reached the candle, and then forty seconds until the candle was falling off the mantle piece and onto the deep pile rug at his feet.

Ignoring his fingers that he had burnt by touching the melted wax, he dived for the candle at his feet, a breath of relief escaping him upon seeing that the flame was extinguished. His greatest worry now was how he was going to get the deep red wax off the white rug before Musichetta came back down. He scurried off to the kitchen, hearing the hairdryer start up in the bedroom, and rifled through the cleaning cupboard in the search of something that would remove wax. When he returned, armed with something that according to the label would remove everything but human flesh, he was a little surprised, and somewhat horrified, to find small flames curling up from the rug and lapping at the wooden legs on the massage table.

Three seconds later, the smoke alarm went off.

* * *

"Wow," Eponine said, stunned, patting Musichetta sympathetically on the shoulder, "that seriously sucks."

"If it makes you feel any better, Joly told me the meal was delicious," Courfeyrac said in an attempt to be reassuring, "even if the whole apartment did smell of smoke and fire extinguisher foam."

Musichetta flicked him on the ear for his troubles and fixed him with a glare that promised a long stretch of forced abstinence from cookies, and growled, "Well, if you're so keen to tell 'Ponine about past escapades, why not tell her about the fashion show?"

Courfeyrac blanched somewhat and shook his head madly, begging, "Please, Enjoras said he would _murder _me, and I mean actual, literal homicide, if I ever spoke of that again!"

Eponine grinned; a sharp, mischievous grin that Courfeyrac knew was the death knell of his existence.

"Oh, please," she purred, "do tell me more."

* * *

**A/N Ta da! And there you have it! Hope you enjoy!**

**Libz**


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